Flowers
by Robin Purdy
Summary: Destiel fluff. Castiel comes back from the dead, and he brings a little present for Dean.


**Destiel one-shot set very early on in the seventh season. AU. Fluff and angst. A celebration story for having 20 author alerts. Enjoy.**

* * *

**_Dean Winchester_**

Dean wiped car grease from his hands onto his pants, taking the bottle of beer resting on the Impala's hood and drinking deeply from it. He was actually having a somewhat enjoyable time, not having to deal with much more than a faulty motor. No ignorant brothers. No lying angels. No Leviathans, whatever they were. Bobby and Sam were looking up on them right now. Meanwhile, Dean would tinker around and take his mind off of everything, whether it was in the past, present, or future.

He finished off the beer and set off to work again. There really wasn't much to do, something that would usually only take Dean an hour or two to fix, but Dean was purposely taking his time working on it, being very picky on even the smallest details. Anything to keep from thinking. He could not think. It hurt too much to think.

He fished around in the cooler for another beer, but he had drank them all. It was probably not safe to have another one anyway, considering that he was working with heavy machinery. But Dean Winchester never thought about safety. He lived his life laughing at the face of danger, mocking death, and joking with the devil, all of them quite literally. He was a hunter for God's sake. Hunters weren't safe. If he were to look up the word _hunter_, he would find that the only synonym listed was _danger_.

The sun started to set, fiery and golden in the horizon, as he walked back to Bobby's house, swaggering slightly from too much alcohol intake. Sam and Bobby were quietly researching in Bobby's study, and neither of them did more to acknowledge him other than a simple nod of the head. Dean didn't know, or chose not to know, that they were both worried about him. In fact, they were all worried about each other. But that wasn't different than any other time. Dean always worried about Sam, Sam always worried about Dean, and Bobby fretted over them both constantly, although he would never admit it.

Dean swung the refrigerator door open, pulled an ice-cold beer from the top shelf, twisting the cap off at the same time. The bottle reached his lips a second later, and he drank as if his life depended on it.

"Uh...Dean?" Sam asked nervously. Dean drank a lot sometimes, sure, but never _this_ much.

"What, Sam?" Dean snapped, whirling around to face his brother.

"I think you've had enough today," Sam said, getting up from the couch, scattering papers on the floor as he walked over to Dean.

"You're not Mom, Sam," Dean sneered.

"And you're not Dad!" Sam nearly yelled, taking the bottle gruffly from Dean.

"Boys!" Bobby shouted from across the room. "Enough. Stop chewing each other's heads off, ya couple of idjits. We all know that you're not your parents, and we also know that fighting won't help us find out what a Leviathan is, so stop yammerin', or I'll have to put you both in the corner. Dean, I think you should go up to bed. You've had a long day."

Dean grumbled, but did as Bobby said, knowing what Bobby would do if he didn't comply, mainly concerning a certain automobile and a crowbar.

It was hard for Dean to fall asleep that night. Images flashed in front of his closed eyes. Images of an angel fighting off a pre-biblical monster and tragically losing. Images of the monster destroying and tearing apart that angel from the inside, using the body as a vessel. Images of his friend, who really wasn't his friend anymore, pushing Dean across the room, cackling evilly as he devised a plan to kill him and Bobby. Images of the friend disappearing under the mirky waves of a lake.

It was just like every night this past week, and there was no way Dean could stop it. And every time he woke, a hole full of emptiness and yearning grew larger and larger inside his chest, until, some time in the near future, it would swallow him whole.

He woke the next morning bathed in sweat. The clock read six in the morning, and the first rays of sunshine inched its golden fingers across the landscape. Dean never got up this early, but for once he rubbed his eyes and crawled out of bed, trying to still beat down the aftermath of his dream from his memory banks.

He stumbled into the small bathroom, the only one in the house besides the main one downstairs, and flipped on the light.

His eyes burned and he turned the light off again. He was definitely going to have a hell of a hangover today. He continued throughout his morning in the dark, still half-asleep, and surprisingly not waking anyone else up.

He finally lumbered down to Bobby's kitchen to get his breakfast of sugar-coated cereal, chocolate milk, and syrup. It wasn't until he sat down at the table with his meal when he heard the soft creaking of floorboards on the outside porch.

Dean instinctively reached for his gun, only to find that he had left it in his bed, underneath his pillow. He had been so hung over and tired this morning that he had forgotten it.

_Stupid, stupid._

He grabbed the next best thing; his spoon, which, if it were a shapeshifter, could actually be used as a weapon.

Dean stood slowly and inched his way to the window. He pushed the curtains a centimeter out of the way, just enough to get a peek at who was at the front door. The angle was such, though, that he could not see much except for a wisp of a coat. A familiar coat.

Dean shook his head, trashing the thought before it even became full. This couldn't be Cas. Cas was dead.

He gripped the spoon firmly in his hand, his other hand turning the doorknob ever so slowly. He swung the door open, spoon pointed directly at the visitor, almost as if it were a gun.

The spoon clattered onto the porch. Everything was slow motion as Dean stared at the being before him, heart thudding like he had just run a marathon, until the Earth stopped moving altogether.

It was Cas. He was standing there, as healthy, alive, and naive as if he were born yesterday, just like always. There was no blood on his coat or body, and his lips were curled up into a small, rare, smile. He was holding a bouquet of flowers with a various assortment of buds, ranging from Roses to Violets, Cactus Lilies to Water Lilies, Indian Paintbrush to flowers Dean had never even seen nor heard of before.

After several minutes of silence, both of them too busy drinking in the other's appearance to remember to speak, Cas cleared his throat. "Hello, Dean."

"Cas."

"I...I am very sorry."

"Cas." Dean seemed to be unable to say anything else. But this time it was different on his tongue. Never had he ever said the name in that way, as if it were the only thing in the world. As if the sunrise was named Cas. As if water and fire were called Cas. As if the very air he breathed was labeled _Cas_.

"Dean?" Cas was very confused now, as he often was whenever Dean did or said something illogical.

"Cas," Dean said once more as he stepped forward and embraced Cas in probably the most un-manly hug Dean had ever experienced. Cas at first awkwardly stood there as Dean's arms wrapped around him, flowers hanging limply at his side, unsure as to what to do. Then slowly, ever so slowly, Cas encased Dean within his arms and wings. Even though the wings were invisible to him, Dean still felt them there; their warmth and love like a security blanket only he could hold. The two were like that for quite a while until Dean grunted and pulled away while also trying to hide his red face.

"What's with the flowers?" he asked, trying to keep his mind off of the hug, somewhat embarrassed about it.

"I thought that it was custom for humans to give flowers to each other when one was trying to apologize," Cas said, wrinkling his brow. "Am I mistaken?"

Dean couldn't help but smile. "No Cas, you're right." Then it dawned on him. "How are you alive?" he asked in a slightly accusing voice.

"You know as much as I do."

"I guess I'll take that as an answer," Dean said, turning to go back inside. "I'll get a vase or something to put those flowers in. Go ahead and sit down." He motioned towards the kitchen table before he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Sammy, Bobby, guess who came back from the dead?"

* * *

That day, the angel, two brothers, and old drunk enjoyed catching up together. Cas explained to them in depth what Leviathans were, although he could not provide an answer as to how to kill them. Sam and Dean told Cas about what had been happening with them since Cas had been attacked by the Leviathans. Bobby asked and joked about the flowers, which were now sitting inside an empty beer bottle on the kitchen table, before he received a punch in the arm from Dean, who was turning red in the face.

But most of all, they were happy. And for once, none of them worried about the past, present, or the future. Which was fine with Dean.


End file.
